


It's Not Easy

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Break Up, M/M, and make up, but happy ending, kind of sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1943181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it's karma, because how many times has he done the same thing; make David jealous by flirting with others, particularly his own girlfriend? </p><p>Only this time it's different. It's not playful like before where it happens, and they don't actually mean it. This time it's real; David is trying to move on, and Neymar just won't accept it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Easy

It hurt the first time, and it hurts now. 

 

Maybe it's karma, because how many times has he done the same thing; make David jealous by flirting with others, particularly his own girlfriend? 

 

Only this time it's different. It's not playful like before where it happens, and they don't actually mean it. This time it's real; David is trying to move on, and Neymar just won't accept it. They had a fight, harsh words were shouted and they are both stubborn creatures, so they waited for the other to apologize. 

 

He sits back in his chair, can of beer in hand and frown on his face, watching the taller man on the dance floor. The song is familiar - it's the one which he was in the video for that MC Guimê sung, but right now he can't help but hate it (sorry Guimê). David is swinging his hips to that tune and Neymar really wants to be the guy in front of him, he thinks, suddenly understanding what people mean when they say they want to be him, or the person he's with. 

 

Of course be deserves it, and since when does David have that much control over his emotions? A few hours after the fight he had kissed a girl, eyes open, to see the familiar flash of rage his boy- _ex_ -boyfriend always showed, but it wasn't there. He wasn't even looking in Neymar's direction, occupied by banter with Marcelo instead. 

 

Well, damn him. Since when does Neymar need his company anyway. He has plenty of friends; Lionel and Thiago and- there's just lots of people. He can survive without David, David can survive without him. It's all good. It's fine, brilliant, even. Absolutely perfect. Yeah, can it get any be- ah. Who's he kidding? He's been an absolute wreck since David left. Who knew he couldn't sleep properly without him; has the bed always been that cold? He's probably having the time of his life, and then there's Neymar, in the corner, glaring like the ex-girlfriend whose just been dumped. It's pathetic. 

 

  
_The_ Neymar; Brazil's best footballer, and Barcelona player, acting like a kicked puppy over a person who got over him in a heartbeat. Why can't he do the same? 

 

It's like someone's ripped his heart in half and is stomping on it with steel heeled boots. If the rest of the guys knew it, anyone even, they would be sprawled on the ground rolling and laughing. It goes to show just how much he relies on David. It feels like the world is ending without him by his side. Truly pathetic. 

 

Neymar thinks of himself as a fangirl (fanboy?) because no matter what they say, he _is_ David's number one fan. And yeah, his room may not be covered in signed autographs and posters, but he has (had) the actual person himself so that beats everything else. 

 

Also, he is one of the few whose had David's d- 

 

"Neymar!" A voice cuts through his thoughts. Good timing. "What are you doing here all alone?" 

 

He blinks. "Drinking?" It comes out uncertain; a question more than an answer. 

 

Oscar doesn't look convinced. "Why aren't you dancing?" He asks, cocking his head. 

 

"No one interests me," Neymar replies. _I only want David._ He takes a sip of the beer, enjoying the soothing cold as it runs down his throat. 

 

"You're joking. Out of, what, two hundred people there isn't one person you want. I'm worried about you, you know, and I can't believe I have to say this. To you, especially, but please, find someone to fuck." 

 

Neymar laughs. His drink ends up all over the table and some of it dribbles down his chin. Oscar scratches the back of his neck, as some of the dancers turn their way, face red with embarrassment. 

 

"Oh-oh th-that is..." Oscar is the one they see as innocent. He's not really, but out of the whole team he is, since he rarely uses crude words and is timid most of the time. 

 

Note to self: Start carrying a recorder. 

 

Oscar waves people away when they come over. While waiting patiently for Neymar to stop cackling like a hyena he calms himself, tries to get his cheeks to return to their normal color. 

 

"I'm sorry," Neymar says once he's no longer in hysterics. "I don't remember you ever saying that." 

 

Oscar puffs his chest, and glares playfully at him. His voice deeper he says, "I'm not a child! I always say it." 

 

They both chuckle. 

 

Oscar observes Neymar spinning the near empty can, and says seriously, "You like him don't you?" 

 

"Who?" Neymar steadies the can, keeping it in place. 

 

"David." 

 

And when this is over, Neymar will never look at him the same way again. Oscar is not naive; he's smarter than they give him credit for. Because of the jokes they have at his expense they forget it, and underestimate him later. 

 

"Yeah," He can't deny it. Oscar already knows. He needs this, needs someone to talk to about the problem he has; one of the many drawbacks to secretly dating his team mate. 

 

Oscar nods, smiling sadly. Everyone knows about David's recent flings. These days he goes to bars more often, and always goes to the bathroom with a person in tow. They don't comment, and no one tells Sara, because David is like a brother to them. He's done his fair share of favors, never asked for anything in return, so they silently agreed to keep this between them. 

 

Neymar is about to start ranting (proving the ex-girlfriend theory right) when he catches a sentence from the song currently playing. In his distraction he didn't even notice the change, and he grins. It's a song he's wanted to sing for a while, but forgot about. Not all of it is relevant with his situation, but it's getting to the part where it is, and he won't waste an opportunity like that. 

 

"I'll be back," He says to Oscar, gives a thumbs up as a sign he's fine, and makes his way through the throng. 

 

There are hands touching him everywhere. He ignores the "Hey cutie"'s, reminds himself to throw the slips of paper being shoved in his pocket, into a bin, when he leaves. 

 

Finally reaching the DJ booth, he whispers into the man's ears. A nod along with a grin is the response he gets. 

 

-x-

 

He's dancing. It's wild, and he's aware he's sweaty. His shirt is sticking to him, the thin material framing his body nicely. 

 

There are several people gathered around him, grinding up against him from every angle. It's hot, rough and dirty. It should feel good, he should be enjoying every moment but he isn't. And he knows why. 

 

No. He's here to have fun. He _will_ if it's the last thing he does. Perhaps he isn't inebriated enough; when he is it's normally enough that his whole body feels numb, at least then everything is easier. 

 

He's about to excuse himself, because he's still kind no matter how much alcohol is in his system, when the song in the background becomes karaoke, someone instantly continuing where it left off. He freezes. 

 

David whips his head around to the stage where a man, 5 years younger than him, is behind a microphone. 

 

People whistle. David gulps, eyes wide and watches the person on the raised platform. 

 

 

_See if you're gonna try to replace me_

_Can they at least not look like troll doll muthafucka, haha_

_How you gonna replace first place with last place bitch please_

_I'm a top notch bitch you know it's true_

 

Neymar. Neymar takes the microphone from the stand, and dances to the rhythm, swinging his hips. 

 

_'Cause he don't kiss the way I kiss_

_And he don't rock the way I rock_

_He sure don't fuck the way I fuck_

_'Cause you know I'm the one, number one_

_I'm second to none_

 

David didn't think Neymar knew those moves. Has he always known, or did he learn? Either way, he never used any of them on him. It annoys him, but as the younger presses his thumb onto the head, and caresses it, he can't concentrate on anything else.

 

_The way I kiss (He don't got my lips)_

_And he don't rock the way I rock (he don't got my cock)_

_He sure don't fuck the way I fuck (Now you're outta luck)_

_'Cause you know I'm the one, number one_

_I'm second to none_

 

Is it hard- eh,  _difficult_ to breathe or is it just him? 

 

_(Hold onto that pillow bitch)_

_I'm second to none_

_(When you go to sleep tonight you know you'll think of me)_

_'Cause you know I'm the one, number one_

 

Their eyes meet.

 

_I'm second to none._

 

A huge round of applause breaks out. 

 

David licks his lips. He tilts his head in the direction of the door, and walks off. 

 

The air outside is chilly, nothing compared to the heat inside. David looks up at the stars; they're beautiful surrounded by the inky black sky. Neymar is beside him in a few minutes.

 

"So, why'd you do it?" David asks after a few minutes, keeping his gaze on the sight above him.

 

"What?" 

 

"Sing. You never sing, you say your voice sounds terrible, which it doesn't. And you never dance, because apparently you can't. It was like going to a concert." 

 

Neymar smiles, "I learned from my mother. A girl wanted me to dance with her when I was younger, and I told her no, because I didn't want to make a fool of myself, even though I'd been dreaming about it for ages." 

 

"You should have told me." 

 

"I was planning on it, but then we got into that fight." 

 

David hums. "Why choose  _that_ song, though?" 

 

"It was the lyrics. Not every part of it relates to our situation, but I caught it near the end so, I sung it." 

 

"What makes you think I've been fucking around?" It's a stupid question really; he knows why Neymar got that impression, but he doesn't know what else to say. 

 

"You come here a lot more, you always leave with guys hanging from your arms, and we find you around corners with them."

 

David sighs, looks down at Neymar, and bites his lip. "Have you ever seen me making out with them?" 

 

"Dani has." Neymar answers immediately. 

 

"Once." 

 

"So?" 

 

"So, I can't. I'm trying, okay? I'm fucking trying to get over you, but you know what? I just can't. I haven't been with anyone sexually since we broke up. I've made out with a few people, but it's never gone further, and even that makes me sick. It never feels right, because it's not you. Their eyes aren't the same shade. Their hair isn't as soft, or the same style as yours. They don't smell like you. They don't taste like you. And when I find someone who has any one of the first three, the rest isn't the same." 

 

Neymar feels giddy, with happiness, relief and love. 

 

David continues, "I dream about you, every night. I remember the way we used to be, and I wish I could go back in time to stop myself from saying those things. I sh-" 

 

Neymar cuts him off mid-sentence with a kiss. It feels like the first time, always does. The fireworks are still there, it's magical, special. It's beautiful, and it belongs to them. 

 

"I love you," David whispers when they part. 

 

"I love you too," Neymar breathes, crashing their lips together. 

 

 

 


End file.
